Numb
AU, Post War
Nobody took a glance as he walked on by the crash.
War really had desensitized them all, made them numb to everything. When he saw the crash, he didn't understand why the people around him were screeching and panicking at the sight of the two mechs frames twisted around each other, energon and various fluids seeping and staining the road beneath them. The acrid smell of fluids mixing together that shouldn't be permeated the air around him, colours mixing till they were muddy and indistinguishable to the next one. He calmly stepped aside when the blaring sirens and screeching tires of emergence response crews reported to the panicked calls of onlookers about the accident. Nearby Enforcers responded by diverting tragic and sending away the civilians, all their glances and frames passing him over.
A traffic light had turned green too quick and an incomplete turn being snuck in let the two mechs meet Primus much before they should have. The burning smell of rubber tires wafted past him as the medic skidded and transformed, knees scraping the pavement to assist the injured mechas, be it alive or dead unknown.
But he knew, just looking at the scene he could already tell that at least one of them were dead, most likely the one that got t-boned when turning. The spark casing had less material around it on the sides in Alt form than in bipedal form. It didn't shock him to see the gory remains being pulled apart, the battle field was less forgiving than the Unmaker sometimes. You find yourself wading through pools of mech fluid that flowed from grayed frames into craters made from exploded shells of all kinds. Nothing was salvageable from the frames except for the tags that rendered the difference between friend and foe.
The meticulous movements of the medics erupted into a controlled frenzy when they found one of the mechs alive. The bot was suddenly hooked up to dozens of different monitors, drips, and lines. All in the preservation of keeping that one spark pulsing. The mech would most likely wake up with more than a limb having to be refabricated. They all had, really, woken one to many times to stare at sterile white and silver walls, half in a haze of drugs much stronger than should be normal, but weren't for how often they needed them and relied on them to get through the monotonous orn to the next till they were set free unto the base that they recovered in at the time. He knew he still had to have more than normal these days, just because of that. Counting the times, he had to have limbs remade and wings repaneled he could have made up times five frames for sure, but that was vorns ago.
The war had ended countless decavorns ago by now, but he still was in a haze, drifting past everyone, wandering through the new clean streets of the new city they had rebuilt, and walked on past the wreck being cleaned up by the response crew, spreading energon not sticking to his ped.
Steps as light as if he was floating on air.